Bittersweet
by claidibabaa
Summary: The rakish old gentleman came to visit her, day after day without fail...DMHGRW


Disclaimer: The characters of Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling.

Bittersweet

The rakish old gentleman came to visit her, day after day without fail, always promptly at 1 o'clock in the afternoon; the woman in ward 501 at St. Mungo's.

The mediwitchery staff knew him instantly by his long, brown cane, billowing black cloak and charming nature. He was a handsome man, even at his age, with shoulder-length white-blond hair, startlingly silver eyes, and broad built undiminished by the years. Indeed, the staff had heard gossip from the older patients that he had been even more exceedingly handsome in his younger years, same as his wife, who was a reputed beauty in the older days.

War heroes, the both of them had been, and their tales of bravery, determination, and courage were etched for all to see in the history books about the Great War. Fighting alongside the famed Harry Potter (a name babes not yet three learned by heart), the two of them were brilliant and wildly talented, and had continued to have successful careers after the war; his, in business, and hers, in spell research. Their love story was grand and tempestuous, and many a girl (and sometimes even boy) had sighed and swooned away at how the two sworn enemies had fallen in love, how the boy, who had always worshipped her, persuaded her to love him back, to be his wife.

He murmured a polite hello to the beaming nurses at the counter, and asked, in his usual melodious voice if he was able to visit his wife today. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he walked silently to her room, a private and very plush one, closing the door quietly on his way in so as to not disturb her. He sat down at last in the lone armchair by her bed, and stared at her while she slept, graying brown hair spread out on her pillow, chest moving up and down gently as she breathed. He reached out to stroke her smooth, rosy cheeks. All of his worries, doubts, and fears always seemed to vanish upon seeing her peaceful visage. And once again, he was home.

It was unexpected, really, when the disease hit her. He, a man who had no knowledge whatsoever about muggle diseases had been at a total and complete lost. After the feeling of disorientation however, came the feeling of all-consuming rage. How could the fates have done this to his wife? How could they have done this to him? Hadn't they given enough, given in blood, sweat, and tears? Hadn't their contributions and sacrifices in the war and in commerce and research been sufficient to be granted a graceful fade into old age? Hadn't they earned their right to watch their grandchildren grow up? To be happy? To be at peace?

He had refused to accept it, spending hours upon hours searching for a cure, while his ever deteriorating wife pleaded for him to stop, to just accept what had happened to her and move on.

There was no such thing as acceptance in his vocabulary. He had always got what he wanted, even his own wife, and this was not going to stop him. Days turned to weeks. Weeks, to months and months to years. And he finally accepted his defeat when, two years after she was diagnosed, his wife no longer recognized his face.

Still, a part of him never gave up on her, and he visited her every day since then, hoping, yearning, and wishing for just a tiny spark of recognition in her eyes; for her to look at him, smile, and say his name.

He could see her slowly stirring from the depths of her mysterious dreams. What he would give to know what they were. She open long-lashed brown eyes, and looked up at him with puzzlement on her face. "Who are you?" she asked.

This was a daily ritual with them, and he played his part, reciting the lines he had said every day of his visits, "I am Draco."

"Draco?" she wrinkled her nose in consternation as she tried to remember. That instinctive action was so reminiscent of how she looked whenever she was trying to solve a particularly difficult problem, that Draco's heart gave a painful wrench.

"No…I don't think I know you. I am so sorry if we've met and I've forgotten…" she paused and looked up at him curiously, "have we met?"

"Yes," he replied gravely, "We have met. Many times. Many days."

"How can I not remember then?"

He played gently with her still-riotous hair, "You're sick. That's why you've forgotten."

"Oh." She bit her lip and ventured, "Will I get well soon? Is that why I'm here, in the hospital?"

"Yes my dear, you _will_ get well. I promise you that." And the woman on the bed was perplexed to see that this last sentence was said with an almost frightening intensity.

He smiled at her and she smiled tentatively back, thinking that this must be a very nice man indeed if he was here visiting her. Why could she not remember who he was?

"Well then, - " he continued…

Just as he was starting to speak, the door suddenly opened and a red-haired boy entered, wheeling in Hermione's lunch for the day. Draco nodded in head in thanks and proceeded to take the tray from him, setting it in front of his wife. A look at her stricken face however, let him know that all was not well.

Not well at all.

She was breathing in harshly, heavily and staring openly at the boy. Draco realized that he must be new, since he'd never seen him before in this ward.

He looked between his wife and the boy, who was pinned to the spot by her stare, fidgeting with his clothes as if this was the last place he wanted to be.

Her gaze was fearful, and oddly, hopeful as well. Putting it down to another one of her episodes, he proceeded to ignore this and opened the lid of the tray to feed her when she let out strangled gasp. He looked at her with his mouth open, as she whimpered out a name.

"Ron?"

The boy stared back at her, all the while shaking his head, "No…no m'am…I'm afraid you're mistaken, I'm not Ron. I'm William."

Still she refused to look away, and still she breathed out, almost as if he were a treasure she had been seeking for so long, and having found it, could not believe it was there right in front of her. "Ron?" She beamed, and it was as if a rainbow had broken though the sky, "Ron! You're here! You've finally come back to me! Oh I knew you would!"

Draco looked at her joyful expression, and could feel his heart slowly and agonizingly break to pieces.

"Um…madam…" he gaped helplessly at Draco, willing him to do something. But Draco could not. He could only sit there and stare as his wife announced her love for someone else.

"Uh…" the redheaded boy with the freckles that bared such a close resemblance to the Weasel backed away slowly, "Sorry. Um…I'm afraid I have to go now. I've so many things to do and…uh...Madam Abbot will be so angry with me if I don't complete my duties…"

Her eyes widened in panic and she grabbed hold on the sheets, clenching her fists tight in her desperation, "Ron! Ron! No, please don't go! Please stay, Ron! Stay with me!" her tone was heartbreaking, and she was sobbing and shaking as she said this.

The young boy hurriedly made his way out of the room and left her sitting there, sobbing bitterly on Draco's shoulder.

She did not mean it. He kept telling himself as, numbed, he stroked her back and soothed her shaking body. She did not mean it. She did not love that other man. She loved him, Draco. She's _always_ loved him. Only him. It is only the illness that was making her say these things.

He repeated this mantra over and over again as he rocked her in silence. He was afraid that if he stopped, there was a high chance that he might go mad.

Tears threatened to leak out of his eyes but he refused to let him. He must be strong for his Hermione.

Just as he thought she had quieted down, and gotten over the episode, she glanced up at him and there…just there…was a sudden spark of recognition in her eyes. It was like a lightning flash, quick and blinding, "Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?" She gripped his arm, "Ron's missing! We must find him! He's gone away from me again! Will you help me find him Malfoy? Oh please…I need to find him. Anyone could have him. Voldemort, or Bellatrix or even MacNair! We must find him again. I can't lose him again, please Malfoy!"

He was shocked into silence, and could say nothing as she continued to plead with him to go with her to save Ron. Ron, who was long dead, body never found, an empty grave the sole reminder of his existence on earth.

Slowly, he stroked her hair, and smiled gently, "Yes, my dear. Of course I will help you find him."

She turned hopeful eyes up at him, "Really? You'll really help me find him?"

"Certainly I will. When have I ever denied anything of you?"

She looked pleased by this and scoffed good-naturedly, "Oh you're such a prat Malfoy! Always such a shameless flirt!" she hiccupped, as smiling happily, she wound herself into his arms. "Who'd ever think such a surly and spoilt wizard would turn out as well as you did? What would I ever do without you?"

He smirked charmingly at her, "Oh, you know me Granger. Handsome, intelligent, savior of helpless women and Weasels extraordinaire."

She punched him lightly on the shoulder, "Don't call him that! And I'm not helpless. Just…in need of some service."

"Oh I'll give you service all right!" he growled huskily and started tickling her till she laughed and snorted and pleaded him to stop.

He released her and she looked up at him, with gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you Malfoy. Thank you so much for agreeing to do this for me."

"Anytime, Granger," he whispered reverently. "Anytime."

00000

"Was everything okay today, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes, everything was fine, thank you for asking Miss Gattiner. In fact, there was even an improvement on her condition!"

"Oh Merlin, really? What happened? Oh, Mr. Malfoy, I am so happy for you!"

He looked down, and then up again, and the nurse could see that he had a genuinely joyful and contented smile on his face.

"She said my name."

-End-


End file.
